Claustrophobe
by ibelieveinguardianangels
Summary: Set after Series 3, when the pair find themselves trapped in a storage cupboard, John gets a glimpse of a side of Sherlock he has never seen before.


**This is set after Series 3, so Sherlock's fear can be justified given the truth we have been presented regarding Sherlock's treatment whilst away dismantling Moriarty's web. Sherlock is, expectedly, a little out of character. I know the story isn't very long, but I felt that it was best to end it where it felt as though it should end naturally rather than drag it out.**

 **As usual, I apologise for any mistakes.**

Claustrophobe

John Watson didn't think he could recall ever feeling pain quite like he was experiencing right now. Yes, he had been shot in the shoulder and, subsequently, invalided home from Afghanistan. And yes, he'd suffered with a psychosomatic limp, PTSD and depression. He'd lost his best friend to suicide, of which he had suffered the guilt that despite all of his medical knowledge, he had failed to perceive any changes to his friend's behaviour that signalled suicidal thoughts, only to discover that he had been faking the entire time. And yet, he will argue that _nothing_ was as painful as seeing his self-diagnosed sociopathic genius of a best friend curled in on himself, trembling from head-to-toe, the heels of his hands pressed against his eyes and two tear tracks trailing down his pallor cheeks, the liquid dripping from his quivering chin.

"Sherlock," The ex-army doctor didn't want to impose on the small amount of personal space the distraught detective currently possessed in the store cupboard they had found themselves trapped, but at the same time, he wanted to ensure that he didn't feel as though he was alone. Shifting a little closer to the man so that he knew he was there, John reached out his left hand and carefully placed it on Sherlock's shaking shoulder, squeezing the joint reassuringly, "Sherlock, I need you to breathe." Speaking softly, John tried to soothe the consulting detective's heaving chest, already feeling for the man as he knew just how much pain he was going to be in the following day due to the tension in his shaking limbs.

With a suddenness that startled John, Sherlock's hands shot out, clearly grasping at John's coat as he unwilling let a sob escape that made John's heart twinge. Taking his friend's outstretched hands as a signal, John repositioned himself so that he was sitting beside Sherlock, leaning up against the wall the other man was using to centre himself, it being the only thing that was preventing his weakened limbs from allowing him to fall over. Wrapping an arm around the man's thin frame, not letting the large Belstaff prevent the pressure he was purposely placing on Sherlock's shoulders from being felt. John carefully pulled Sherlock towards him, his shaking appendages doing nothing to stop him as he fell against his chest. Sherlock lifted up his head, resting it against John's sternum as he continued to cry, the material of John's coat oddly soothing as his own chest heaved, his earlier whimpers transitioning into sobs, his gloved hands clinging tightly to his friend's jacket as though it was his lifeline.

"Not long now, Sherlock," John cooed in a voice that would usually be reserved for the young patients that visited his surgery, "and Lestrade will come and rescue us. We _both_ know that meddling brother of yours will be tracking our phones to find us now that he'll have realised we're not where we're supposed to be." John systematically ran his hand up and down Sherlock's upper arm in a bid to bring him some kind of comfort, resting his chin atop of the other's head of fluffy black curls.

"Let me out," Sherlock pleaded in a strained voice, his speech fractured, interrupted by hiccoughing breaths as he shifted, hiding his tear-reddened cheeks in the material of John's jacket, "please, John," he begged, his words muffled, "I need to get out."

"We'll get out," John assured him, reflexively tightening his hold on the male, "Lestrade will come and help us."

"Please, let me out," The detective repeated, his volume dropping to a defeated whisper, as thought he was beginning to believe that the probability of being rescued was low.

"Sherlock," John spoke, his tone changing slightly, still soft but taking on a firm edge as he gently pushed Sherlock away, reaching out and tucking two fingers under his chin so that he could raise his head and ensure that he was looking at him, "we're going to be fine." He promised. "But, you need to try and calm down. You're on the verge of hyperventilation, so can we try and slow it down a bit?" He questioned, purposely keeping his voice calm as he attempted to soothe the detective. "Do you think you can try and mimic my breathing?"

Thankful for the new distraction, Sherlock tugged his head from John's hand and focused his attention on watching John's chest rise and fall evenly, trying to coax his own into doing the same as he fingered the button on John's jacket.

"That's it." John praised and Sherlock didn't need to look up to know that he was smiling at him. "Keep doing that, just focus on breathing." The doctor held on to Sherlock's spare hand, squeezing the flesh around the middle phalanx of each of his fingers from his index finger to his little finger and back again, trying to provide the consulting detective with a different form of stimuli to focus his attention on and hopefully prioritise over his irrational fear of confined spaces. "You're doing great. Now, I have a challenge for you, although I suppose that for a genius like yourself it might not be so much of a challenge," He explained, his words clearly catching his friend's attention, "I would like for you to list all of the elements of the periodic table, in order. Do you think you can do that?"

With great relief, the ex-soldier saw a flicker in the man's watery eyes, a sign that the Sherlock he had grown accustomed to was coming back to him.

"Of course I can, John." Sherlock stated with an air to his words that told John he was questioning why the doctor would provide him with such a meagre task and John couldn't suppress his smile at hearing the tone. However, the congestion he heard distort certain sounds reminded him of why he was doing it.

"Prove it."

"Hydrogen, Helium, Lithium, Beryllium, Boron, Carbon, Nitrogen, Oxygen, Fluorine, Neon, Sodium, Magnesium, Aluminium, Silicon, Phosphorous, Sulphur, Chlorine, Argon, Potassium, Calcium," Sherlock reeled off, readily accepting John's 'challenge' and more than prepared to prove himself, not once pausing or hesitating as he spoke. By the time he reached Gadolinium at 64, a crash echoed from near the entrance of the doubled-locked storage cupboard that caused both Sherlock and John to start.

"John?!" A voice called, "Sherlock?!"

"Lestrade!" Both called in unison, never being more thankful to hear his voice. Standing up, the pair began to bang on the door, signalling to him that they were in there. After a few more bangs and frantic shouts, the detective inspector assured the boys that he would have them out in no time. True to his word, less that five minutes later, the door was forced open, the lock broken, and John and Sherlock were left squinting slightly at the rare London sunshine as it shone through the window directly opposite the storage cupboard.

Once freed, the consulting detective set about paving his way back to Baker Street and the comfort of home, leaving John to thank Lestrade before jogging to catch up with him.

"Alright?" John questioned as they fell into step.

"Yes, I'm alright." Sherlock nodded. "Of course I am, why wouldn't I be?" He questioned, straightening his slightly damp gloves before shoving his hands into the pockets of his Belstaff.

"No reason." John smiled, thankful that his best friend was back to normal, or at least as normal as Sherlock Holmes could get, and respecting the fact that he clearly didn't want a fuss made of the previous circumstances.

 **Thank you for reading, and please let me know what you think.**

 **I know I already wrote the story** _ **Damaged Goods**_ **which is, clearly, based on this theme, but I wanted to try one where it was Sherlock who was claustrophobic and not John.**

 **ibelieveinguardianangels**


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